Tainted by A. E. Rought Read Free Book Online Page A

arms peg him for the guy least likely to frequent a gym. With the lack of balance, motor oil on his clothes and dark blond hair, he’s the exact opposite of Trent Landry, and I’m glad he’s here. Even if he is late.
    “Sorry,” he says, skating the last couple yards to me. “Damn Ford wouldn’t start.”
    Fix or repair daily. Found on road dead. Fucker only runs downhill. I could go on.
    “At least you made it.” I smack his shoulder.
    “Just in time, apparently.” He shoots a look through the plate glass windows just as Trent flips me the bird. “Friend of yours?” Jason asks.
    “Only in the sense of keep your friends close,” I say, and sling my gym bag over my shoulder, “and your enemies closer.”
    “Which category does he fall in?”
    “I believe our girlfriends would classify him as a frenemy.”
    “Not sure which is more disturbing,” he says and falls in step behind me, “that you know that term, or used it.”
    “Ha, ha, Weller. What time does the mall close?” I ask over my shoulder.
    “The Lakes closes at 9pm.”
    “Great. A couple hours of torture and we’re free.”
    “I think,” he says, stopping at my Acura’s passenger side door, “I would rather go a couple rounds with your frenemy back there.”
    “Trust me,” I say and fish my keys from my pocket, “it wouldn’t take that many.”
    8.30pm, in the food court of the Lakes Mall and we both look like we went a few rounds in the ring. In Jason’s defense, the old lady in the bath stuff store was pretty pushy…
    “Dude,” Jason says, with a groan, “why did we wait so long to shop?”
    He slumps to a chair. His bags – all two of them – slide to the floor like he doesn’t have the strength left to carry them to my car. Inside, I’m beat, totally regretting my run, and my head is pounding from all the holiday bell-ringers. I’m Thursday-level sick and tired and it’s only Wednesday night.
    “Not sure.” Gravity drags my butt to the last empty seat at our table – the others are taken up with my many packages. A heavy kind of fatigue weighs my limbs, grinds in my joints like sand. I survey the damage I did to my bank account: a basket of bath stuff, a couple of hoodies, a bracelet, a build-it-yourself bear. “But I think we got enough.”
    My phone chooses that moment to announce a message. Sighing, I take a long drink of my Mountain Dew, followed by a bite of pretzel dog. Jason watches, one eyebrow slowing creeping upward. He knows how much Em and I text back and forth – our textual behavior is legendary. Still, I hesitate checking my phone. How could I explain my reaction if it’s another message from Hailey?
    My reminder tone dings. Jason cuts his gaze from the phone to me. “Aren’t you going to check that?” he asks. “Emma will be expecting a reply.”
    Can I keep a straight face? Since my father rewired some of my nerves, I can’t always trust my facial expressions to obey my brain. The more Hailey harasses me, the more what is Daniel in me rails against it. It’s a sharp, separate feeling, hot and buzzing in my guts, my heart. She’s threatening my life with Emma, and even if Daniel isn’t a thinking, cognizant entity, his presence affects every action and reacts to Hailey.
    How much do I tell Jason? He’s my best friend now, but of the four of us: Em, Bree, me, and him, Jason’s the one we’ve kept in the dark about my medical condition. Bree may know some of the story, but Jason knows nothing. He just accepted me as me . Jason never asked, I never offered.
    I can’t hide this forever. Hailey’s poisonous. I need to let some of the truth out, and maybe find a way to protect Em from her.
    “I don’t want to look,” I confess. Jason’s eyes widen. He looks like a gamer on an all-night bender who just got shot and can’t believe it. “Y’see, I have this ex-girlfriend who won’t leave me alone.”
    “Mm-hmm,” he mumbles, reorganizing his expression to something more smartass-like